by M. J. O'Shea
“You’re leaving?” Tyson was both dismayed and slightly relieved. It was an odd feeling.
“Yeah. I can tell when someone doesn’t want to be around me.”
“Sorry, I’m just in a weird mood,” Tyson said. “Things were weird in New York.”
“Weird. I get it.” Avery looked like he very much did not get Tyson’s abrupt one-eighty.
How could he explain mortality and danger and the fact that he hadn’t had feelings like this for anyone ever, and all of a sudden he wasn’t quite so ready to jump into them? Avery was smart. He’d understand, Tyson supposed. But he also had never had someone he shared with, emoted with.
It was time for Avery to go.
Avery nodded and gave Tyson a sad look that said he knew it was more than a weird mood.
“Give me a call when you want to hang out,” he said.
Tyson had a feeling watching him go that he wouldn’t call Avery. That this was it.
He still waved and let Avery walk down the front sidewalk and unlock his bike. He didn’t shut the door until Avery turned the corner and disappeared from view.
IT had been two weeks since the night at Tyson’s, and Avery hadn’t heard a single thing from him. He supposed that was it, and because of whatever happened, or because Tyson got bored, he wasn’t going to hear from him again, but he still held out a vague kind of hope. The kind he knew was pointless. He wished it wasn’t. He hadn’t seen Macy in days, or Vaughn, had only vaguely responded to their texts, and had become the definition of a shut-in. It was like nothing had happened at all. Except it had. And Avery couldn’t avoid talking about it anymore.
He accepted Macy’s invitation to drinks at her house and was happy when he got there and it was only her and Vaughn. He didn’t know how the hell he was going to explain the demise of him and Tyson when the explanation would have to involve the part about Tyson being immortal. Macy kind of knew, but Vaughn? Well, that was a lot to spring on a person.
“How are you, babe?” Macy said after he had his wine and his snacks.
“Shit. But whatever. Life goes on.”
“You think it’s over?” Vaughn asked.
“Yeah. I haven’t heard from him in two weeks, and we ended on a weird note. I think it’s over.” Avery made a face. “It was exhausting anyway. He went all hot and cold on me there at the end. Fine, then not fine. I just… I’m kind of glad.”
He wasn’t. But it was easier to say that and hope it was true. Easier to pretend he didn’t still turn over in Tyson’s arms only to realize Tyson’s arms weren’t there and he was back in his own cottage that he used to love so much. He didn’t love it anymore. It felt empty.
Vaughn looked hesitant. “I don’t want to say anything. I think just maybe he wasn’t right for you. If he can walk away from an awesome guy like you so easily, maybe you need someone better.”
Avery wasn’t far gone enough to think there was nobody in the world for him other than Tyson, but it had kind of felt like nobody got him quite like Tyson did, like he’d never have that kind of chemistry with someone else, that deep of a connection. And it was scary that the thought ever crossed his mind. Tyson couldn’t be it for him. There would be someone else. There had to be.
“Yeah,” he said. “Maybe there’s somebody better out there.”
He shoved the little canapé in his mouth so he wouldn’t have to give any more explanations.
He, Vaughn, and Macy talked about other things after that, their usual tirades over students, the state of education, and the wenches in the lit department, until Avery was drooping in his seat and Vaughn offered to give him a ride home.
Vaughn patted his shoulder when he pulled up to his house. “It’ll get better, dude. I promise. It sucks, but you’ll find someone else. This guy wasn’t what he seemed.”
“Yeah,” Avery said. He had to believe it, but it was kind of hard.
Chapter Fourteen
AVERY hadn’t seen or heard from Tyson in weeks. He supposed it was over for real and he needed to move on with his life, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Tyson. It was like once that switch had been turned on in him, it was nearly impossible to turn off. He hadn’t even been with Tyson very long, hadn’t even known him for an entire season, but that short time had changed everything for Avery in so many ways.
He pedaled down St. Charles, looked at the same houses he’d looked at back in October when Tyson didn’t exist yet for him, strewn with Christmas decorations now instead of black and purple for Halloween, and instead of seeing them, he calculated how many blocks they were from the one faded yellow mansion he couldn’t seem to forget.
It was a little chilly outside, probably not for someone from another part of the country, but his body had acclimated a bit, no matter how much he liked to pretend it hadn’t and that he was a Northerner at heart. Avery pedaled a bit faster to get home and inside. He had some final grading to do, Netflix to catch up on, and a few glasses of wine with his name on them. After that, hopefully oblivion for the long weeks of the holiday break… and no dreams of blond hair and perfect kisses.
His life had gotten quieter again since Tyson had gone. He found he didn’t mind that so much, although the echo of his momentary social life still left an empty spot. Now if he could just stop wondering if Tyson was only blocks away at the club, or if he was asleep, or if he’d somehow gotten back together with his evil but apparently very beautiful ex-girlfriend.
He pulled across Canal Street and into the world of the French Quarter. Closer to home. He could feel his couch calling to him. The littlest things exhausted him lately. He barely had enough energy to make it through his classes and pretend he still felt the same about everything he taught.
The lights seemed familiar, even if they were still a little spooky. He smiled when he passed street musicians and inhaled the particular scent of his part of town. Avery tried to acclimate himself back to his old pre-Tyson life. He’d get there eventually. He would. It might be hard to forget what had to be the most life-changing experience. Parts of it he’d never forget, but he had to move on. Pretend Tyson never happened. Pretend he didn’t choose to be alone instead of with Avery.
Avery passed into the quiet half of the Quarter and slowed down. He was nearly home. Already he was planning his dinner and lining up his Netflix queue in his head. Maybe it was time to think about getting out there. Find a distraction that might help him forget.
HE knew as soon as he pulled up to his house that there was something wrong. Different. All of a sudden, he had one of those queasy stomach feelings people seem to ignore. He hopped off his bike and paused in the courtyard in front of his house.
“Hello?” he called. He walked through the wrought-iron gate, propped his bike up against the wall, and was nearly all the way up the stairs when he noticed a shadowy figure on his porch, right behind a column. Avery tried to move, but before he could, he felt a sharp poke on his neck and his vision turned black.
When he came to, he was in a windowless room and there was a beautiful dark-haired, pale woman standing over him.
“You’re Clara, aren’t you?” His stomach sank.
She smiled. “I see my reputation precedes me,” she said. He felt another sharp jab in his arm, and the entire room went black once again.
WHEN he woke, Clara was standing above him in the same small, windowless room with another syringe in her hand.
“Quit fucking drugging me,” Avery grumbled. It wasn’t smart, but she also probably wasn’t going to kill him as long as she thought Tyson was coming for him. Which was less than likely.
“Will you behave?” she asked.
He was handcuffed and had never learned the useful Jackie Chan type skills of getting himself out of tight impossible spaces, so the answer was pretty much yes. He nodded and slumped back into the uncomfortable position of lying on what seemed to be a dusty children’s bed with his hands cuffed behind his back.
“This isn’t going to work,” he grumbled. “He’s ne
ver going to do what you want.”
“You think you know him so well, sweetheart. But you don’t. He’ll be here.”
Avery shook his head. “I haven’t even seen him for weeks. He got tired of me.”
She laughed. It was light and giggly and disturbing as hell. “You haven’t gotten him figured out yet. Tyson’s a martyr. Always will be. He was willing to sacrifice his happiness to keep you safe.”
“He freaked out about how much I was changing his cushy little existence. Let’s not make him into a saint.” He’d figured that out a few days into the silence. He was something to care about, something that threatened Tyson’s way of life. That was why Tyson had stopped calling. He just hadn’t cared enough to want to make room for Avery, make a few changes.
Avery was pissed off. He’d been dumped by Mr. Cold Feet, and he was still paying for what had to be the shortest relationship in the history of dating. He just wanted to get out and go the fuck home.
“I don’t have anything to do with him anymore. You’d have more luck if you took Donovan or Mrs. Peggs.” Not that Avery had anything against either one of them, but he just wanted out. Plus, he was right. Tyson hadn’t thought him important enough to keep around when it got a little less convenient; he certainly wasn’t going to risk his life for Avery.
“His little vampire friend? No, thank you. I really like my blood inside my body.” She shuddered delicately and tossed her dark hair over her shoulder. She really was beautiful. For a psychopath. “You’ll do just fine.”
She left after that, and with the flip of a switch, Avery’s prison descended into darkness. He didn’t do anything other than lie there and think about how much he wished he’d never met Tyson… and that was when Avery realized he didn’t even know Tyson’s surname. Or if Tyson was even his name at all. So much fucking trouble for someone he barely knew when it came down to it.
I hate you.
He didn’t, of course. But he could still be mad and still wish desperately to see Tyson come through that door to save him… even if it didn’t seem likely. He wondered if that was where Clara’s anger came from. Years, decades, centuries even, of festering animosity toward someone who didn’t quite care about her like she cared about him. Avery had to say that he empathized—even if he wanted to take the bitch out.
He could guess what Clara wanted—more of the rocks, Tyson’s attention. Maybe his love. She wasn’t going to get any of that from Tyson with Avery as her main bargaining chip. One guy wasn’t worth his immortality. He’d made that quite clear with his weeks of silence. Who even knew if Tyson was still in New Orleans. He could be on the other side of the world by now, starting over with his piles of money and his beautiful face.
Avery knew he was fucked. He just wished he could figure out exactly how much.
TYSON had been feeling like shit for days. Weeks, really. Mrs. Peggs kept giving him significant looks and then flouncing off to her suite to watch television. He hadn’t been out, barely talked to anyone, even found himself ignoring his phone because the person he most wanted to hear from wasn’t calling or texting. And it was his own damn fault.
“Mrs. Peggs, I’m going on a walk,” he called out into the void. She didn’t answer him.
Walking was the only thing in the past few weeks that made him feel better. It was getting chilly out, at least for Louisiana, and the night air felt good against his skin. He walked for at least an hour, slipped around corners and hopped over uneven places on the sidewalk pushed up by thick tree roots.
It wasn’t until he returned to the house that he realized his phone was missing, and a very agitated Mrs. Peggs was waiting for him with an envelope in her hand.
“What’s this?” Tyson asked.
“A rather creepy gentleman dropped it off. Said it was for you.”
Inside was a picture and a note. The picture was enough to make his entire body go icy. Avery, passed out and bound with his hands behind his back. He was on a bed, in a room with no windows and wallpaper Tyson would know anywhere. That was his apartment. In Rome. The second part, the note, made him grit his teeth and want to punch the wall.
I’m guessing you’d like this back unharmed. You know what to do if you want your little mortal. Bring me the deed to the mine. And a map. I’ll let you keep whatever stash you have left. I’m generous. I’m guessing you’ve recognized your own apartment, but just in case, I’ll make it easy. I’m in Rome. You have three days.
C
Chapter Fifteen
“SHE has Avery, Mrs. Peggs.” Visceral panic, panic like he’d never felt before, coursed through him. Avery. It didn’t even seem possible that she’d be so devious. But of course she was. She’d managed to find him. She had to also have figured out who Tyson cared about, and that probably made her angry enough to lash out.
“Who has him?” Mrs. Peggs looked at the picture of a bound and drugged Avery and gasped.
“Clara.”
He’d spent so many decades wishing he’d never met her, that whatever fleeting romance they’d shared had never existed. He would’ve rather been alone than deal with her manipulations. Tyson had cared for her once, but that was a long, long time ago. Mostly now all he felt was contempt. And loathing. Well, add fear to that list. Clara had never been hesitant to kill someone, and she had the man he was falling for—the man he wanted to be with more than anything, even though he’d pushed Avery away. He could’ve been with Avery all those weeks when he’d sat in his library, sure in his correct decision and completely unhappy.
What was I thinking?
“What on earth is she doing with him?” Mrs. Peggs asked. “Does she want you back?”
Tyson gave her a sour laugh. “No. She wants the mine… and attention, because she could never survive without that, but mostly the mine.”
Mrs. Peggs gasped.
“Exactly. She has him in Rome. I’m leaving as soon as I can get a plane out of here.”
First he had to search for his passport. He always got them updated with new birthdates and current pictures—which had almost bitten him in the ass a few weeks ago. Tyson hoped the day never came that his forgers wouldn’t be able to keep up with the border technology. So far it hadn’t.
“Do you want me to find you tickets?” she asked.
“No. I’m going to charter a jet. I can’t deal with public airports right now.”
There were lots of advantages to money, but not flying commercial when he didn’t want to? That was probably the best one. He didn’t take jets all the time—they were rather extravagant, after all, but in emergencies, well…. Obviously, this was definitely an emergency.
“I’ll just pack a bag, and damn…. What am I doing?”
“Sweetheart, I’ll deal with the airplane. I’m better at it, anyway.”
Mrs. Peggs had managed to procure him last-minute travel more times than he could count.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, sweetheart. Go pack a bag, find your passport, and I’ll get a car and a jet ready for you.”
BY the time he left New Orleans, the sun was rising high in the sky. It was a clear day, and unusually crisp. Tyson tried to concentrate on the sky so he didn’t spend the entire flight to Dulles ready to scream his way out of his skin. They had to make a pit stop in DC to top up on fuel, and then they were on their way. He had a long, long day ahead of him. He wanted to try to sleep so he’d have his wits about him when he got there, but he didn’t know if he’d be able to. He just kept getting the picture out, the one where Avery was tied up on the bed in a room he recognized very well. Avery looked asleep. Or drugged. Tyson’s heart constricted.
He’d probably been right to push Avery away in theory. Keep him from getting involved in all of this. But it hadn’t helped. He and Avery were going to have a long talk after he dealt with Clara. And maybe if he gave Clara what she wanted, some of their relationship problems would be gone soon. Tyson would be normal. Even though that thought terrified him. Not as much as the thou
ght of what Clara could do to Avery, but still. It did.
When he finally touched down in Rome, it was midmorning. They’d made good time, but it didn’t feel like it. Tyson realized he’d never known true panic until he saw that picture of Avery tied up and helpless. Clara knew he was coming, and he had a car waiting for him at the gate, but he was still anxious she’d get impatient and just kill Avery. She’d done things like that before, after all.
He’d drawn a map on the way to Rome and written up and signed papers handing over his mineral mine to her. The official deed was in a bank in London, but he’d get to it eventually if it came to that. He’d do anything to save Avery, even if it terrified him. He seriously hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
The ride through Rome was hectic as usual, especially with the typical big city traffic. His apartment wasn’t very close to the airport, and it took nearly an hour to get there. By the time they pulled up in front of the building, Tyson jumped out and was ready to sprint up the stairs.
His heart pounded in his chest. He was sweating and more scared than he could remember being in decades, if not centuries. He needed to get to Avery before Clara did something permanent to him. He needed to save the man he loved.
Tyson stopped dead in the hallway right outside the door of his Roman flat.
Loved.
He loved Avery.
Of course he did. And he’d do anything in his power to make sure at least one of the two of them came out of this alive and on his way home to New Orleans.
TYSON hadn’t been in this particular apartment in a very long time. A decade at least. He’d managed it from a distance, gotten upgrades, and rented it out for vacationers, but the most he’d seen were pictures. It felt like walking back in time a little—well, at least a different version of time. He didn’t know where Clara was, but he knew where Avery was. The picture had been of a little utility room Tyson had turned into a third bedroom in case the renters had kids. The room didn’t have any windows, but it wasn’t bad, just a little cramped. At least it wouldn’t be if Avery wasn’t in there tied up. He gulped. His stomach sank for the thousandth time since he realized what had happened.
